


Man Who Sold the World

by HeviMetal



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Dark, F/M, Fluff, Pain, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:23:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7644397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeviMetal/pseuds/HeviMetal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is mad, driven by the lust for knowledge and rejection that one of the oldest and most influential families is suddenly murdered and no one knows a thing about what happened or cares to know. Petyr decides to take matters into his own hands, he isn't the Lord of Coin just for fun; he has all the resources he needs to solve this burning mystery, but will he be satisfied with what he discovers--or rather--can he live with it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shrink

Petyr hadn't a clue where he was going with his speech.

That itself is quite troubling in comparison to his usual quick-whip mouth, yet here he is aching on a couch imported possibly by one of his many contacts. He hardly found himself in situations which required the lord of coin to be lazy and lay about talking as if there wasn't a care in the world; in fact he hated it—wasting precious time. Regardless of Dr. Bjorn's assured words, he would never take the offer to relax. Only fools laid their guard down , and honestly, could any soul really in front of a shrink? 

He rolled his eyes for what seemed like the millionth time over to a steel clock ticking ever so slowly on the wall. It may as well be a Dahli painting, the one with melting clocks for in his mind he is, melting that is. Damn these wretched sessions. If only his sweet wife Lysa hadn't persisted they take counseling—only marriages with redeeming qualities are worth saving and theirs was far from it. In fact, Petyr wholeheartedly believes marriage meant buying only the best for it to be taken or sacrificed in great divorce. 

The positive he saw through all this equated in less time spent with Lysa. 

So Petyr had relinquished a few moments and indulged. He wore his smile thin and sat straighter for it allowed the lungs to breathe better when speaking. It's Friday which meant today's session would be whatever he wanted to prattle about, be it his job, his hobbies, his wife, for Christ sake—even his ill adopted son. The man scarcely believed himself a fit father. Not that he never wanted children, but if he was to, it would be with a beauty with hair as red as the sun and a smile which could melt hearts; Lysa is none of those. And poor Robin, his wife's son from her previous marriage, such a pitiable boy, spoiled really. The boy was having a royal life with his coddling mother. He would never know the word or meaning of hardship. Perhaps this is why he is weak and easy to manipulate with the right leverage. 

“What you are implying Mister Baelish, is that you are happy. I can say you seem and sound much happier than you were when you first came in. I admit—you struck me as a bit of a cynic. With all your denial being here and pleasing your wife, we all have someone we want to please, you're not alone.” Dr. Bjorn said.

“Of course I'm not” Petyr replied. _I'm not daft_ his eyes twinkled.

“But--” Bjorn paused “I can't help but acknowledge you seem to be hiding something rather deep.”

“We all have our secrets Doctor, even you.”

“Yes, indeed we do, yet I feel yours steams from something you hide well behind your voice. Traumatic maybe? A sort of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder)? Who knows, I'm not a mind reader, but it's unhealthy. I know you don't want to be here, you made it quite clear our first day and there are no amount of words I could say to influence you to share and the Lord knows I've tried, but maybe you should do something to remedy this. Go away on a trip, take up a new hobby, but you should not hold it in. Whatever it is that shackles your mind and suspends you to it—I think it's time you let it go and move on with your life. You have plenty of it ahead of you” Dr. John Bjorn, clearly an immigrant, is no spring chicken himself. Their first meeting was as bitter as he reiterated twice already today. He didn't want to listen to what this man or anyone had to say, as he already knew their advice would be useless and the only body between he and his wife to actually absorb it all in would be Lysa. The woman had a way about her to take anything and everything like a sponge if it involved the two of them and somehow make daily goals of shoving him into awkward situations which involved public eyes. She truly does love her audience. If only he could be a true chameleon and blend into Bjorn's office plants, the whole place is littered with them! At least his green thumb thrived from their lush vitality unlike his shitty therapy. 

Petyr's smile twitched. He would love to go away, go far far away, somewhere where Lysa's witchy talons cannot reach him and shred his clothes off for a night of what she calls bliss. The good doctor's influence perhaps, but she didn't need his motivations to pursue her husband, she had done it relentlessy since their youth. He nearly shuddered at the thought if he wasn't so disciplined. There had been too much unhappiness in the act of sex with a crazed woman. He swore on a few occasions this would be the day she would eat him alive and everything known about Petyr Baelish would be exploited two page lengths in obituaries how he was a loving husband who knew how to please his wife and touch her in all the best places and should it have been an act of murder her revenge would traverse the world...too much information than needed known among the populace. He needed to survive. If not for himself and his goals, than for the world and to spare them the ramblings of the widow Baelish; formerly Lysa Arryn. 

As much as he adored his mad wife, he needed her. Lysa has influence, lineage, above all else, claims on land he needs in order to climb the ladder of success. Baelish will become a name everyone will know, not just this town, the surrounding cities, or country, but the whole world. 

“What a wonderful idea doctor” Petyr said on command as he stood facing the plain shade of sky-blue walls, a choice he assumed the good doctor picked on hopes it would be relaxing. “I think I shall take your advice as a prescription for vacation.”

Dr. Bjorn laughed. He could tell it was possibly out of nervousness since this would mean the witch herself would assault the doctor for even suggesting the idea her husband be away from her side, but what could he do? Doctor's orders and he wasn't about to be reprimanded for not recovering properly. Bjorn took his patient's silence as an opportunity to counter. 

“You could take your wife with you Mr. Baelish. Just find some time for yourself, she could even use it as a vacation herself and maybe lay poolside somewhere.” 

Yes he would make a suggestion to scar innocent eyes.

“Now Doctor, I'm detecting something of a secret in you behind those words. It can't be be my sweet wife frightens you could it? Has she bullied you even though it is she whom currently lines your pockets? I'm afraid this bit of revelation has me feeling doubtful. You offer yourself about as useful as a donkey on jacks.” he honestly answered while Bjorn was fumbling with his words, trying to find the right set so guilt wouldn't lock his jaw, but it was fruitless effort for Petyr finished before he could begin. “A jackass.” 

It was his cue to leave. With the good doctor sitting like a fish in his chair and relief motivating flighty hands to adjust his gray suit jacket, Petyr took big strides to the door and held it open a second longer. 

“Anything can be bought Dr. Bjorn. Even secrets, remember that.” 

_Fuck you and have a nice day_ , and vanished as if it was as simple as that.

 

 

It was a near death experience traversing mid-evening traffic. His sessions with Bjorn never lasted for more than an hour which gave him just enough time to miss evening traffic, however tonight it wouldn't be a problem. The streets were significantly light. What he saw in front of him are stragglers who missed the seven o'clock train or were just out for night life, neither of which were his excuse, but it hardly bothered him. The weather was foul with winds so strong he still felt a chill despite the protection his bespoke suit provided. Instead he stood for a moment debating whether or not he would see his wife sooner and instantly decided he would just blend in among young romantics and troublemakers not giving a toss what anyone thought.

For some reason he had trouble getting his feet to move, had barely an inkling of comprehension to his surroundings. In reality, memories of a Tully woman with hair red as the sun and a smile which melted hearts grounded him. She married his rival, changed her name to Stark, but no sooner had they begun to build a family, they were all rotting somewhere above, beneath, or in the stomach of some beast. What happened to them? Surely they all could not have died, but all the reports indicated so, he remembers reading the paper and listening about it on the news. His thoughts pushed him to seek solidity, his old best friend, and found it diverged in an alley. 

Petyr loosened his emerald silk tie and leaned against damp bricks and searched for his lighter for a smoke. Theft is the last of his concern. No one would be stupid enough to attempt robbery with so many eyes near nor was he worried about his life, but he was alarmingly unfocused and reluctantly found himself ruminating as before on the Stark mystery. Apart from what the news informed, it seemed the case had been deemed cold. But he doubted it. With enough money, anyone could be influenced, even the law. The Starks had many enemies, it's not a farfetched idea if any one of them took the gun. Supposedly they had all been buried together in the family crypt except for the women whom specially were cremated. And why is that? Why go through the trouble of separating the women from the men? Doubtlessly the media spun a good tale for the people to believe it's what the family wanted, yet it is oddly suspicious. Bizarrely enough it was as if they had vanished. All attentions consistently remained on the men and all too eagerly the women are ignored.

Of course, he too would have believed and fell for it all if not two years ago after their deaths he hadn't seen a glimmer of auburn hair running through the shadows, but likely not right? His heart nearly gave out that day. It was as if he saw a ghost, and questionably, she flitted through the streets similarly to one. Who else could have inspired his efforts like that? Certainly not Lysa. It must have been her—his precious Cat...it was a typical jolt which spurred him to begin a private manhunt. 

But then suddenly, as if by magic, his phone vibrated and the anonymous call that lit his screen had him answering the device forgoing the cigarette. 

“Yes?” Petry opened sharply. 

“We have a lead sir.” 

“Tell me what you have.” He had a moment of paranoia. If unmarked phones wasn't enough, he turned his back to the street and listened desperately. It was the only way to make sure no one caught wind. And that's putting it mildly. 

“The dragonfly was last seen flying near the grand park. Evidently it landed at a nearby establishment for a minute and footage was caught on surveillance. There is also a witness whom described the likeness of it's appearance. Don't worry, we took care of the eyes.”

“I'm on my way.”

Just as quickly as he answered the call ended, but was instantly replaced with another. 

“Hello dear wife, don't wait up for me tonight, it will be another long day.” and this time hung up before the other end could comment.


	2. The Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely I'm posting these chapters! Thank you for you patience! As always, feel free to comment and enjoy!

* * *

 

Petyr had just shed his coat walking into the office when Anonymous called again.

He was getting real fucking tired of these false alarms. No doubt each one is treated with crucial importance considering the value of everything involved. It didn't help irritation grit teeth, slam doors and really seek a lonely whiskey decanter. How hard can it be to track someone? He's done it so many damn times and yet his current attitude is born from failure and lack of common sense in the world. He wasn't about to answer. Petyr wanted to raise a storm instead. Fire every fucking hired hand beginning from letter “A” all the way to “Z”. Varys is equivocally an ass for suggesting street thugs. They're less dirty he promised, no one would miss them if they are killed. And while it's true everyone would believe their deaths are associated to drugs, it didn't make them any more promising. How could they have lost sight? Petyr ought to have kept a better mind than to take his advice, granted he is a promising lawyer, nothing good came from a man whom looked like a spokesman for cleaning products. His bald head may glow lemony fresh, but it didn't hide the shit which poured out his mouth.

Of course now that Petyr was drinking, the expendable part didn't count anymore.  
Not particularly a sensible thing to do. But it suggested his thoughts ring irritatingly stupid. It hardly owned his conscious, even if two bodies looked as though a wild animal tore their throats. That's what the call was before this one rang returning home. These thugs didn't mean anything to him. Impress them with money, speak silver words in their less than ears and if not within an hour they sing, certainly they will beg.

It felt tiring being the only damn man in this whole operation who has a brain and knows how to use it; yet success requires talent which ran rivers of blood and pulled triggers, strong-armed the innocent and spoke ill threatening words. That's where Varys was right and where he also warned him. He could call him friend, but it would be a lie. The spider is something more of a liaison, a confidant in some way. They often met over coffee, tea or somewhere else public among uninterested eyes. Their topics consisted of news between wealthy families, politics, money, the world--mostly jabs really; Playful at first to get the gut rolling before things get nastily passive aggressive. Regardless of how ugly or mean it got, they constantly left on a good note. Compliments of admiration or respect genuinely shared.

This time, ungratefully so, the spider bit a little too hard. Petyr only had himself to blame. Never once had he truly hated the man to go so far as murder, but maybe shut him up. Vary's can be described as a lot of things: spider, snake, eunuch, but did he have the likeness of the devil?

The answer is, no. That title belonged entirely to someone else, the one knocking on his door.

Shit was all he muttered.

Petyr sat in the quiet fire warm hush of his office. The red oak of his desk, which thoughtfully picked in contrast to slate coloured walls, made the room more comfortable than it seemed cold, lacking any feminine personality.

Nevertheless, Petyr had no desire to be sensible. They would remain well against his chagrin, much like dear Lysa.

His door is like the gate between hell and imminent-hell. A sort of monument people erected after war. You admire the sentiments of it's meaning, but grew somberly aware of what it held. In this case, he mimicked the reaction those young teenage girls did in horror films when answering the phone and no one responded back. It did little to protect him from a lunatic and swore her visage from The Shining—here's Lysa.

“Whats going on?”

"Did I wake you? Hopefully you weren't waiting up, its so late and you should sleep."

If he had seemed too happy, silly or obedient, it was entirely Lysa's fault. As husband, Petyr maintained an identity that Lysa fell in love with. A man who loved her as fools do, spoiled her with sweet words and opened doors habitually. While he did not have any objections to general courtesy, he never felt any more of a man when committing them to his mad wife for it is all a game. She had to believe in to his charade. What more could he do to convince her otherwise? He doubted there was anything beyond sex for she is a ravenous beast and he the poor tamer. He felt lucky she hardly suspected him false; it made the game much easier. Every king in the game of chess needs his pawns on the board. She is every bit that required, dispensable piece. Enough so to arrest evenings in the shower scrubbing every inch of her off.

“Oh husband! They have you working like a dog! Don't they know you are only but a man? I shall do something about this, I promise you--”

Petyr had stopped listening more or less at the point when her threats poured freely. The witch tended to conjure unnecessary spells which somewhere mentioned the enemy needed to reflect on their dignity and maturity and so forth each time. He would not hear them. As they grew bolder, more obnoxious, Petyr would press his finger to her mouth. Delightfully, she hushed.

“Look what they have done to my silly little wife. Using such language no lady of dignity should be using. I'm quite appalled by your vocabulary. Why—what would everyone think if they heard Lysa speaking as if she were some slum dog?” he seized the opportunity to insult. “Go back to bed. Staying up late doesn't help with beauty sleep, it's called that for a reason."

"Say you'll join me Petyr." She demanded flipping papers on his desk.

"I'm sorry--unfortunately I have plenty to finish here" Petyr looked directly at her for a moment. Her eyes were were heavy. She caught him looking, but he didn't shy from the challenge.

Lysa smiled, worming an inch of her finger. The closeness hadn't changed. "I want you to ravish me"

"Maybe later. Perhaps when I'm done. With all the precious bodies in this home, a man must work hard to support his family, else he is nothing but lesser of a man who comes home to beat his wife.”

"When you talk like that it just makes me want you more! Oh! Why wait when we can do it now!" she swept piles of documents off his desk and crawled on it moaning his name over and over like a broken record. "Take me! Take me! Take me!"

He wanted to laugh. Not at the humor of how utterly ridiculously she looked or sounded, but at his own despair. Petyr didn't want to get fucked--not by her. All he hoped to accomplish tonight would not happen, not while a prune violated his name, desk, and air. He felt a jerk of disgust knot in his throat. All sorts of questions were being fought within. Such as a revised version of what life was, and what death would be in Lysa's name. Would his work suffer should he become a widower? Was it murder if she willingly gave her life in sacrifice assuming it's a request out of love? He doubted any tears would be shed. And in retrospect, his mission would likely end smoothly with great accomplishment in less time and money spent.

Petyr smiled a secretive smile, like he knew something good she should know.

"Today's session with Dr. Bjorn brought a revelation to my eyes that we haven't spent enough time together. He suggested we should take holiday together and go somewhere nice and peaceful and I thought to myself 'yes--why not?'" It was time for him to take control of the room and helped Lysa off his desk not once removing himself from behind it. "Pack your things, we're leaving for the Vale tomorrow morning"

"My love!" Lysa squealed and rolled off his desk leaving lipstick kisses all over his cheeks and mouth before running out.

It had only been a month since they last went on a date. There was a call which Petyr answered demanding he immediately depart while they ate dinner at the fanciest dive Forbes magazine recommend to "million dollar pallets". He couldn't ignore it, not when it was at the request of Cersei Lannister, he needed her. She was the mother to the current king and they relied heavily on his connections to advocate their presence and manage accounts. Granted he didn't give a shit about them or their petty squabbles, however their money was a different story. He understood her excitement.

Though he doubted her happiness would last and this brought him happiness as he decided to end his work now and finish tomorrow. After all, he failed to explain there are meetings he had to attend which clashed heavily against their plans and could not be rescheduled. Lysa would have to enjoy her settlement home by herself thanks to the late Jon Arryn.

The next morning was as he predicted it.

Lysa had looks of both defeat and murderous intent. The untimely announcement of his crucial obligations nearly shattered her teacup during breakfast. Petyr effortlessly played the part of a distraught husband torn from missing out on quality time. Constantly he would repeat all the things he had planned or lamented over what Lysa could show him about the estate. She begged like the bitch she is, ordering he abandon duty, however few could challenge his logic. Hardly anyone could unless your name is Varys and hers is most definitely not. He convinced her it would be healthy and good for the soul and that parted souls always loved stronger which segued into a promise of vigorous sex. It was a performance worthy of an Oscar manipulating all the reactions he wanted out of her. She hated not getting her way. Petyr loved never giving it to her. It was a God send she was equally easy to manipulate which made closing the black sedan door with a chauffeur already behind the wheel ready to go a breeze.

"Have fun." He mournfully waved watching the car fade into morning sunlight making sure he was clearly seen.

Though as soon as he was no longer visible, Petyr went back inside to check his phone. Waiting for him was a text message with a picture of a blurry red headed female seen standing outside Rose Garden park. 5:52 A.M. Was the time marked on the security cam image.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooo this idea had been burning in my mind for a few days and funny enough, Nirvana's rendition of 'The Man Who Sold the World' played and I just began jotting down ideas and outlining it all. Thus, here you have it, a vampire au fic--how typical right? I hope you all enjoy it as much as I will writing it.


End file.
